


I Know Places We Can Go Away

by skeletncloset (alexa_dean)



Series: Secrets'verse [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Bottom Jensen, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, Intercrural Sex, Intergluteal Sex, Lap Sex, M/M, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Past Sexual Abuse, Pseudo-Incest, Rimming, Rough Sex, Seductive Jensen, Sharing Clothes, Size Difference, Size Kink, Top Jared, Underage Sex, ball play, partial penetration, stepbrothers au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexa_dean/pseuds/skeletncloset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is the first to wake. He sits on the edge of Jared’s bed, hands pressing into the mattress and tries not to think too much like he has the tendency to. He glances over his shoulder to where Jared lies on the bed, belly up and head turned to the side, midday light slicing through slits in the blinds; across the points of his cheeks, his collarbone, one terracotta-colored nipple. Jared’s heat so much like the sun and Jensen reaching like a sun-seeking root, greedy for what lays hidden underneath Jared’s sheets, the swell of it between his strong thighs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know Places We Can Go Away

**Author's Note:**

> Possible triggering material. Jensen is fourteen and Jared is seventeen.

[ ](http://s1212.photobucket.com/user/alexa_dean/media/Samdean/1b4101da-82f0-4aa5-8f87-f439656223b2_zps8a0259f8.jpg.html)

Jensen is the first to wake. He sits on the edge of Jared’s bed, hands pressing into the mattress and tries not to think too much like he has the tendency to. He glances over his shoulder to where Jared lies on the bed, belly up and head turned to the side, midday light slicing through slits in the blinds; across the points of his cheeks, his collarbone, one terracotta-colored nipple. Jared’s heat so much like the sun and Jensen reaching like a sun-seeking root, greedy for what lays hidden underneath Jared’s sheets, the swell of it between his strong thighs.  
  
He can’t help feeling raw and afraid with wanting; the thought of the rejection Jared’s sobriety might bring. Jensen doesn’t think he can stomach another month of denial. Not after Jared’s whispered promises. He fights the urge to slide over Jared’s hips, work himself back and forth against his skin, their mouths meeting and parting. He closes his eyes and with great effort rises to his feet.  
  
What he does need now is to clean up and make breakfast, lunch, or whatever. Perhaps coax Jared awake with coffee. The more he thinks on it the better the idea sounds. Better to ease Jared into their relationship than to rub his face in it. Jensen wants to prove he is capable of feigning normality, because to tell the truth, Jensen is beyond it.  
  
In the shower Jensen breaks down, crumpling to the porcelain. It’s been a long time since he’s had a panic attack and he’s had enough of them to know what they’re like and what to expect. He slows his sobs by breathing deep and slow, letting the water wash away the tears blurring his vision.  
  
He feels like he’s falling. He feels empty. Feels so stupid for allowing himself to be so vulnerable-- that he could keep the whole thing on a strictly physical level. Jared is under his skin and there is nothing Jensen can do about it. He realizes then that his therapist was right about him. That he’s spent the last six years of his life hiding. But there are no take backs in Jensen’s world even if he wants to.  
  
Shakily, he towels himself dry, sneaks back into Jared’s room and takes one of his flannel button-downs, refusing to look over at Jared. He folds the sleeves over four times, feeling so much smaller than the dog years he’s accumulated.  
  
In the mirror, he looks lost in fabric, shirt hem brushing mid-thigh, his eyes red and his features puffy. He’s always felt a form of dissonance between who he is and what he sees reflected back, like he’s two separate people, like his body hasn’t yet figured out how to catch up to him, but already he sees his shoulders broadening and his limbs lengthening, his jaw sharpening into that of the man he will become and it fills him with a strange sort of satisfaction, a sort of validation.  
  
Although, covered up, he can also see how he’s frequently mistaken for a teenage girl. He frowns at that and makes his way out of the room. He hates mirrors.  
  
He decides the occasion calls for blueberry pancakes, Jared’s favorite, cleaning up as he goes along preparing a meal. He’s always been a bit of neat freak and if he’s honest, a perfectionist. Jared teases him about it and goes about leaving his stuff all over Jensen’s room to rile him up, just to prove his point. So maybe, Jensen has a bit of a problem. But his problem has allowed him to skip a grade and advance to college level mathematics. Jensen has an understanding with formulas and theories and laws. It’s something he can predict, something he can depend on when life decides to throw chaos his way.  
  
He’s _not_  dysfunctional. He’s  _not_  obsessing over what had happened so many years ago that had never been his mother’s fault but she feels it is, anyway. Has taken full blame for it and she looks at Jensen as just another reminder of her failure as a mother. It had taken her a long time to date again and even longer to say yes to Jared’s father, to marry and then move in together.  
  
What he hasn’t quite forgiven her for is telling Jared’s father about what happened to Jensen. It’s Jensen’s secret to tell and something he’s not ready to admit to. He doesn’t want people to pity him, especially since there isn’t anything to feel pity for. He hates that Jared’s father is always so  _nice_  to him, like Jensen will break if he raises his voice or offers any criticism. Jensen thinks if he were to slap him, he’d literally turn the other cheek and it makes Jensen want to scream his head off.  
  
Fuck, if Jared starts doing it too, he’s going to  _flip his shit_. Fuck that. Jared’s the only one that treats him like he’s normal, except now that Jensen has changed the nature of their relationship he’s starting to think that maybe it can’t be helped, that maybe that will change too.  
  
At school, Jensen is the weird kid, both too smart and too young. If it wasn’t for Jared he would have probably been ostracized. Sometimes, when Jensen’s forced to watch some cheerleader cling to his stepbrother he thinks that maybe it would be preferable than to sit around and stew over the cafeteria table wishing it was him there in Jared’s embrace.  
  
He’s so deep in thought the pancake on the pan begins to smoke.  
  
“ _Shit! Shit! Shit!_ ” He tips the pan over into the sink where charred dough hisses at him angrily as it hits stainless steel.  
  
“Dude! The fuck you doing burning stuff this early in the morning?” Jared hovers in the archway, in boxers but otherwise bare, wearing a towel like a turban on his head.  
  
“It’s twelve-thirty,” Jensen retorts, indignant.  
  
“Yeah, well, it’s early for  _me_.”  
  
“Coffee’s ready,” Jensen changes subject, but Jared is already searching the cupboards for a mug.  
  
“Noticed and believe me, I’m grateful.” Jared side-eyes him as he pours himself a cup. “Are you wearing my shirt?”  
  
“You gonna do something about it?”  
  
There’s a long pause where Jared just looks at him thoughtfully. “Looks good on you.”  
  
Warmth spreads over Jensen’s cheeks and his stomach does a little pirouette and he has to smile. They’re okay.  
  
They’re  _okay._  
  
**  
  
Okay, so maybe they’re  _TOO_  okay, because it’s three in the afternoon and Jared hasn’t made so much as a move toward Jensen. Jensen is a bit sick of  _Call of Duty_  at this point and he’s starting to wonder whether the night before even happened.  
  
It could very well have been a delusion if not for the bruises on his skin and the soreness keeping him from sitting on the floor. Sure, there’s no awkwardness between them but all Jensen sees is his stepbrother looking back and not the guy that gave him the fucking of his life hardly twenty-four hours before.  
  
Jensen will have  _none_  of that. There’s no reason for Jared to put on a farce when their parents aren’t even in the same zip code.  
  
Jared is still smashing buttons and yelling at the TV screen when Jensen walks out of his room, headed toward the kitchen.  
  
Jensen doesn’t eat in front of strangers. It makes him uncomfortable. The act seems too intimate to share. It took him a while to sit at the dinner table with Jared and his Dad and actually put food to his lips.  
  
Now Jensen hardly thinks anything of it, unless Jared brings a friend home and then Jensen waits until they leave the room. By then his meal needs to be reheated and his mother has that  _look_  about her. That sad, thoughtful look she gets when she’s busy hating herself and Jensen wishes she had never walked in on Jensen and that  _disgusting motherfucker_ , that  _pedophile_.   
  
He wants to tell her that he never felt like he  _couldn’t_  come to her. That he  _knew_ she would believe him, but that in the end it had felt  _good_ , that Jensen craved it. That Jensen felt  _special,_  if a little scared initially.  
  
So yeah, Jensen has quirks. He won’t eat at school, just moves his food around so that it looks like he’d taken a few bites. Jared notices though. Jared notices  _everything_ , tells him he won’t grow if he keeps doing that and Jensen would fling food at his shirt to shut him up.  
  
He’s totally surprised when anxiety fails to rear his ugly head as he sucks on the end of a big pop.  It’s a favorite, all yellowy orange tie-dye goodness. But it makes him feel distinctly dirty. So maybe he’s counting more on its encouraging properties than he intends to let on in front of Jared.  
  
He leans against Jared’s doorway, eyes closed and enjoying the slide of sugary ice on his tongue, hard and thick, but not thick enough and not anything like Jared, but big enough to get the point across as he hums to himself, slurping as nastily and loudly as he can.  
  
Jensen fights the urge to smile as the sound of rapid-fire ceases and he takes the popsicle deeper into his mouth, numbing the back of his throat pleasantly and shifting from one foot to another. Sticking his hips out, doorjamb steady between his shoulder blades and the soft thin cotton of Jared’s shirt hardening his nipples, his dick swelling against his briefs.  
  
He  _feels_  more than  _hears_  Jared come toward him, the slide of his gaze over his mouth, the clean soapy smell of him coming off like a flame and underneath the peppery scent of Jared, of sex.  
  
He’s so close his heat bleeds into Jensen and Jared’s near moan skitters along Jensen’s face. Jared doesn’t even give him a chance to empty his mouth when his lips are on Jensen’s, licking around the popsicle, sucking even and Jensen sucks, his huge hands on Jensen’s hips, thumbs pressed deep into the bone and the shape of his dick pressed tight against Jensen’s belly, still covered by cloth.  
  
He’s groaning into the hollow of his mouth, bending his knees slightly between Jensen’s, hands sweeping downward across Jensen’s flanks, his ass, groping each cheek and hoisting him up so that Jensen is forced to wrap his legs around Jared’s waist and his arm around his neck, lips coming apart sticky sweet.  
  
Jared carries Jensen across the room, dropping him on his bed and Jensen bounces, losing his grip on his popsicle.  
  
“Dude!” he says to Jared, amused and irritated, thinking of the lint tacking to his popsicle, but he can’t bring himself to complain too much because Jared’s eyes are dark, all the more in broad daylight, staring at Jensen so long Jensen fidgets nervously.  
  
It’s like Jared can read him because he drops to his knees, graceful, like he’s moving through water, hands grabbing hold of Jensen’s ankles, his calves, kneading them as they keep reaching, upward and onward, stroking the secret skin of his inner thighs, where he’s hairless yet and spreading him open.  
  
Jensen has to stare, propped on his elbows, heated by Jared’s slanted, animal gaze. He’s so hot for it he misses the point Jared reaches for the popsicle, until it touches him and he yelps and tries to get away.  
  
“Don’t,” Jared says, his first word since they started this thing. “It’ll feel good. Promise.”  
  
Jensen can’t get a sound past the knot in his throat, but manages a nod of assent. He squirms a little at the pointed icy pleasure on his thigh, followed by the hot silk of Jared’s lips, the spread of his tongue.  
  
He slides Jensen’s briefs to the side, touching ice to his balls and Jensen hisses at him, and his thighs quiver from fighting the impulse to kick Jared away. His sight blocked by the bunch of flannel around his waist, the gleam of Jared’s hair and the sweep of it on his skin.  
  
But then Jared’s mouth is on him, taking all of him, his sac rolling on Jared’s suddenly too-hot tongue and he falls back against the mattress with a shuddery moan that ricochets off the ceiling.  
  
Saliva and melted sugar stream over his perineum, into the slit of his ass and he’s not sure whether he finds it pleasant or kind of gross because his skin is sticking together. He decides the latter but then Jared’s tongue swipes across it and his body chases the feeling. It’s gone and totally unfair.  
  
Jensen isn’t too disappointed because Jared has Jensen’s balls in his mouth again, bouncing against his mobile tongue, tugging on the skin gently as Jensen thrusts into the air, gripping Jared’s sheets tightly.  
  
Then he feels a blunt pressure, ice-cold and tacky, soothing away the soreness, until his hole gives and twitches and Jensen really, _really_  can’t help pushing away. Jared has a hold of him though. Jensen’s knee slung over his shoulder and his arm around Jensen’s thigh and he keeps  _pushing_. A long, high whine fills the room and Jensen realizes with a shock that it’s coming from him. That he’s near screaming, but Jared changes the angle and then Jensen stops fighting it.  
  
“Fuck, Jensen,” Jared huffs, eyes glued between Jensen’s thighs. The slide out is almost as agonizing as the glide in. It’s the contrast of it, his body fighting the cold, trying to keep it out, but unable to around the broad shape pushing bright, setting him ablaze, so good Jensen rocks into it, even as he wars against it.  
  
It’s so worth it. Jared’s praises and then his lips mouthing and sucking at the damp wet patch of Jensen’s briefs. His teeth pinching his dick, squeezing him, but what pain Jensen may have felt is dampened by fabric, dick protected against Jared’s bite.  
  
 _This is it_ , this is what Jensen can’t live without, this place created by them both, away from others, without rules or guilt or shame. This is where Jensen belongs and where Jared belongs with him.  
  
Jared’s mouth trails back to the spill of his sac, pushed and pinched to the side by the leg opening and all air leaves Jensen as Jared sucks him back in, hard.  
  
“Tastes so good,  _so good_ ,” Jared says between messy slurps, following the seam right to the base of Jensen’s blood-heavy dick and back, taking one ball into his mouth and then the next and then both at once and humming like Jensen is the best meal he’s ever had.  
  
But he can feel the melting pool of sticky sap inside and out, running thin on the comforter but Jared is relentless, sucking him clean.  
  
Jensen is being driven nuts, beyond the ability to speak coherently, his heart stuttering in his chest and he’s so wet with precome and syrup he can all but hear the pulse in this dick. He wants to come, but he wants to last too. Wants it to go on forever, bask in Jared’s love, his attention, his clever mouth.  
  
He shivers, both cold and hot, sluttier than he’s ever felt, hips grinding back against the mattress and then pressing forward, balls deep between Jared’s lips, the swirl of his tongue, both gentle and rough and nothing but oh-so-good.  
  
When Jared pulls the popsicle out, now thin, Jensen feels too empty clutching around nothing but air and his cheeks flame at the thought of what it might look like to Jared, nothing but another hungry mouth.  
  
Jared is nothing if not merciful, attentive, sliding two fingers inside Jensen and feeling around, pushing deep, then bringing his face against the curve of Jensen’s ass, sweeping across the skin in broad lingering licks. Pushes into the deep muscle of his perineum, the crevice of his thigh and then around the ring of his ass, and further down to the tip of his spine and back to push between his fingers where they slip in and out of Jensen, until Jensen inches back and twists a hand in Jared’s hair, shoving him deep, until Jensen is soaked not with remnants of liquid sugar but Jared’s spit washing him pure. Jaw working against Jensen, teeth pressed into the meat of him. Jared’s fingers pushed to the knuckle without relief or pause.  
  
Needy want crackles down Jensen’s spine and he has to touch his dick, squeezing it rough to keep from coming and biting his tongue, the inside of his cheek.  
  
Jared does that to him, the sight of his smile like gold, like a midsummer sun, like the force that moves the planets, the breadth of his shoulders enough to carry Jensen’s baggage, and his gentleness soothing Jensen still and steady. Jared has the ability to make Jensen come on a dime if Jensen allowed it, Jensen who feels both wild and tamed by him. Crazed with lust always, so that it seems his underwear is perpetually damp and dark from watching Jared from afar.  
  
And now he’s slick as a girl against Jared’s smooth cheeks, the faint stubble on his chin and the feel of fingerpaint patterns inside him. All of it working against and for him, spreading his legs until his tendons ache and his ass inches further and further toward Jared until it hangs off the mattress, twisting in the air, humping at nothing, not even his hand.  
  
Unable to find the words he needs for deliverance, Jensen groans and whimpers and cries out. Because it’s J _ared_  and Jared is everything that matters.  
  
Jared uses his hand to shove Jensen back onto the mattress, fingers so deep Jensen thinks he might feel them behind his navel, in the tightness in his throat rendered silent at the glide of Jared’s naked chest against his arm as he climbs onto the bed.  
  
Wonder fills Jared’s eyes as he gazes at Jensen’s face, hooking his fingers and cradling Jensen in his palm, rocking him back and forth, bed frame creaking with the force of it, slow and deep, pushing all the air out of Jensen’s lungs, so he can’t even beg for Jared’s cock. Jared’s breath hitches in tandem with Jensen’s, like he’s the one getting fingerfucked into the stratosphere, which would make Jensen laugh if he wasn’t blinded by fireworks, back arching and body shuddering violently as Jared forces an orgasm out of him.  
  
Jensen's voice is so high, so light, it doesn’t even sound like his own and it might not have been if he didn’t feel it rumble in his throat, less scream than song. He feels so helpless, so defenseless now,  _more_  so when Jared’s fingers slip from him and it  _would_  scare him, but Jared looks just as open and raw as Jensen feels, just a devastated and young, red-orange mouth touching Jensen’s and urging his open, nothing but sugary sweetness,  _nothing but them_.  
  
Jensen rolls Jared onto his back, his half-hard dick pressed against Jared’s, separated by fabric.  
  
“You wanna fuck me?”  
  
Jared smiles, and touches his cheek. “You sore?”  
  
“Not anymore . . . “  
  
“Liar.”  
  
“Okay, maybe a little, but I think the popsicle made it better.”  
  
If a smile could light the world, it would be Jared’s, bright white teeth and dimples. “I can wait. I’ve got my hand.”  
  
Jensen frowns, a little hurt.  
  
“Hey,” Jared’s face darkens with concern. “No, it’s not whatever you’re thinking. I don’t wanna hurt you. That’s all.”  
  
“Then  _use_  me.”  
  
Jared’s grin takes on the look of sadness and Jensen feels a burst of rage. He won’t stand for it.  _Not_  from Jared. And he can feel anger transform his face, flaring his nostrils and hardening his jaw.  
  
“ _Don’t_. Don’t give me that shit,” he says, sitting up on Jared’s waist. Jared’s hand follows him up, toward his cheek and Jensen smacks it away, then changes direction and brings his palm down hard on Jared’s face with a satisfying  _crack._  
  
Jared’s eyes widen and his cheek reddens, what tenderness he may have shown is nothing but a memory as he grips Jensen’s hair, tugging roughly so Jensen’s hands fly back to clutch at his wrist.  
  
 _“This what you want?”_  Jared growls.  
  
Jensen thinks he should say no, because fuck it  _hurts_  and totally not in a good way, but in an infuriating way that has Jensen mouthing off.  
  
“That all you got?”  
  
Jared yanks, violent enough to bring Jensen down into the mattress, manhandling Jensen onto his stomach and under him, which would have been pretty hot if Jensen could have avoided the cold smear of come on his semi-soft dick. Jensen’s arms cramp between his chest and the mattress and Jared lifts his flannel shirt up around Jensen’s armpits, swinging a leg over Jensen, pinning Jensen’s thighs between his knees.  
  
He lets go of Jensen’s hair--  _thank god_  -- and squeezes the sides of his waist and the elastic of his briefs, slipping them right under the swell of his cheeks and gropes them, pushes them apart, tugging at his hole with his thumbs.  
  
“You’re such a liar,” Jared says, but manages to spit right into it anyway, like he intends to fuck Jensen.  
  
When Jared releases him and his weight shifts around, Jensen knows he’s kicking off his boxers. Then he’s touching Jensen again, skinning him naked.  
  
“Batman?”  
  
“Fuck you. He’s cool.”  
  
Jared snorts and settles between his thighs, urging them up and wide with a gentle slap. He smacks Jensen’s crease with his hard dick, dripping precome. Jensen gasps at the heat, wanting the leisurely stroke of Jared’s ride.  
  
“Just gonna rub off on you,” Jared mutters as he drapes himself over Jensen’s back, all along his spine, the flex of Jared’s chest gathering Jensen’s shirt between the swell of his pecs; his long, thick dick sandwiched between Jensen’s buttocks as he makes the first dragging thrust over his hole, not  _into_ , but  _against_ , true to his word, so Jensen can feel the measure of it, the delicious friction.  
  
And Jensen’s stomach does a little tumble and he feels himself filling out again, Jared’s balls sliding over his taint. Jensen’s dick slopes downward toward his thighs awkwardly and it should be painful but it isn’t, just a little hypersensitive and it makes Jensen wish Jared's sheets were a higher threadcount than they are.  
  
He pushes back into Jared’s body like a cat spreading its scent. Spreading himself all over Jared’s dick, marking him as his. He’s a little swollen and sore but it just makes it better. Musky heat of Jensen’s come and Jared’s impending orgasm thick as fog. But Jared is so heavy Jensen can scarcely move, can’t manage much more than to drool onto Jared’s mattress and suck air between thrusts, both crushed and rewarded by Jared’s little whimpers.  
  
Jensen is probably too swollen to fit Jared inside, but he’d never pass up the opportunity to try. The dart of Jared’s tongue over his neck and a hand wiggling between them, long surgeon’s fingers pushing into Jensen’s ass again, like Jared can’t bare not to be inside Jensen, like he needs it to come, to breathe as much as Jensen does.   
  
It makes every thrust clumsier, their rhythm off kilter, because Jared has to slide sideways a bit and it isn’t enough for either of them. Jared rolls them on their back, with Jensen on top, wrestling them into a sitting position and Jensen closes his thighs around Jared’s dick by instinct, letting him thrust between them, lifting them both and either Jensen’s thighs are too small or Jared is so big that his dick manages to peek out, pushing Jensen’s nuts to the side and it’s fucking hot as all get out.  
  
Jensen is almost knocked off Jared-- he’s so strong--but Jared has him by the biceps, keeping him still, panting right into Jensen’s ear, inches and inches cresting and receding, huge, bulbous head, the color of pomegranate seeds and Jensen has to squirm right back because he’s fully hard now juddering up and down on Jared’s knees, helpless, unable to grab hold of his own cock. It looks kinda funny bouncing around like it is, desperate for friction, for attention.  
  
“Jared,  _Jared_!” Jensen begs, “You gotta— _fuck!_ ” Jared lifts him into the air to get a fist underneath Jensen’s ass and around his own dick then lets Jensen fall back down, partially penetrated.  
  
So maybe,  _maybe_  Jared's right and Jensen is really, _really_  sore and the popsicle really didn’t make anything better except in Jensen’s head, because the muscles in his ass are spasming, burning wantonly with the inches Jared snatched, but Jared keeps hammering away at him, gnawing away, not deep, but not shallow either and Jensen is wailing with a hand on his own dick, nothing but a blur, reduced by the need to come and Jared nosing home, fucking in part way.  
  
Every thrust comes with the force of a blow that  _stings_  and brings a tear or two to Jensen’s eye. He has to steady himself with a hand on Jared’s knee and his thighs squeezing Jared’s thighs, legs not long enough for his feet to reach the floor, not with Jared bouncing him on his dick like he is.  
  
“That’s it, baby,” Jared says with a bite. “Wanna feel you come around my dick.”  
  
Jensen does, because it’s easy, because the head of Jared’s dick tugs at his rim just right, stretches him just so, makes him clench and before long he’s coming, more than he figured he had to give, splattering Jared’s thighs and his shirt and then he feels Jared too, hot and sloppy inside him, leaking out of him, Jensen too fucked to hold it in and his face is burning, but Jared is crying out around his bite on Jensen’s spine, damp through the cloth.  
  
Jensen falls on his face beside Jared, come spattered all over his thighs, dribbling onto his balls.  
  
“That just happened,” Jared says, breathless.  
  
“Again,” Jensen adds, solemn. “You’re not gonna back out, are you?” Jensen can't help it. He needs reassurance, more than strictly necessary perhaps. He needs to hear it, every- _fucking-_ time.  
  
Jared rolls onto his side and smiles at him even if he’s had to say it many times before, reaching for Jensen with his mouth, kissing the corner of Jensen’s.  
  
“No take backs. Not ever,” Jared mutters sweetly. “And I’ll say it again and again. I get it. I still feel guilty and it might never change, but I won’t fight it either. I remember what I said last night and I was pretty fucked up.”  
  
The possessive imprint of Jared's hand on the low of Jensen's back is almost incidental to Jared's words, like a brand and a promise and Jensen smiles, lets his contentment glow, because they've found their place, with each other. It doesn't even matter that Jensen has a popsicle stick embedded in his stomach, and he's wet with melted syrup (because apparently he's a magnet for wet spots). It really doesn't. Because Jared is his. And Jensen's not doing his laundry.


End file.
